Dress Code
by cries havoc
Summary: Modern AU Elsanna (not Icest) drabble because some lesbians are butch (and that's okay) and some are not (and that's okay). And some people are bisexual (and that's okay). Now a series, apparently.
1. Dress Code

**AN: Modern AU Elsanna (not Icest) born because I saw things in the fandom complaining about butch interpretations of Elsa. _Anna's POV._**

When you've been best friends with someone for years, for like, practically your whole life, and that someone calls you over one afternoon for an impromptu fashion show in her bedroom, you show up. You show up with bells on because she's your best friend and you'd do pretty much anything for her. The fact that she's gorgeous and, even though you're straight, you're kind of in love with her is totally irrelevant. I'm – _you_, you're just being a good friend. Totally.

"Anna? What do you think of these?" Elsa, my best friend, asks me. She's taller than me, has unbelievably perfect platinum blonde hair in a plait down her back, and the bluest eyes in the whole world, and she's super fit and hot and _goddamn that ass in those jeans_.

"What?" I'm so eloquent. Like really.

"The jeans. Do they look okay?" Elsa turns, twisting her body to try and see better in the floor length mirror attached to her closet door.

I'm sitting on her bed, my own jeans frayed and torn from months of abuse (because me walking out the door in the morning is abuse, I promise), and I'm trying not to stare at her ass. I'm really, _really_ trying, but shit, "Those jeans fit you like a glove."

It takes me a minute to register, from Elsa's shy giggle, that I've spoken aloud. _Is she blushing? No way, Elsa never blushes at compliments_.

"You think so?" Elsa smiles at me through the mirror. Like, she's looking at my reflection and we're making eye contact, which is fine because it means I'm not starting openly at her ass anymore. or her legs. Or her hips. I swear I'm straight. She's just that hot.

I nod, swallowing thickly, and there's this moment – the air is really heavy and Elsa's room feels too warm for the first time _ever_ in our lives, and we're still looking right at each other and it's weird, but not uncomfortable. I'm not explaining it well, sorry about that, but it's really tense. If Elsa was saying this, or thinking it or whatever, it would be all flowery Shakespeare words and shit. She's cultured like that. I still laugh at my brother Kristoff's fart jokes.

Anyway, there's this super tense moment of eye contact, and I finally look away and say something just to break the mood, because Elsa's eyes are kind of intense after a while and I start to feel like I'm drowning in them. "Why are you doing this again?"

Elsa frowns at my reflection. I see it out of the corner of my eye because I've looked away and I'm self-consciously brushing some loose hair behind my ear.

"I told you, Anna, some of my university friends don't believe I'm gay because I dress so… straight, I guess. Feminine."

Elsa seems to be struggling for words, which is so rare that it's kind of cute, or endearing, or some word that sounds less like I'm gay for her, because I'm actually the straight one in this relationship. Friendship._ Shit, she's still talking._

"…and Mulan kept muttering about how I was breaking some 'lesbian dress code,' so I went shopping."

I look around at the new clothes scattered on Elsa's bed and the floor, and there's this purple and blue plaid shirt, like a guy's shirt, hanging off Elsa's desk chair and it totally looks like something Kristoff would wear, or something I would steal from him and wear ironically (because I'm cool like that), but it's so…. Not Elsa.

"Wait, so just because you're gay you have to wear jeans and flannel?" I ask, sounding unconvinced because, seriously? "I wear dresses sometimes and jeans other times because I like both. What I wear has nothing to do with me being straight or not, but you're a lesbian so you have to wear this stuff?"

"Apparently," Elsa doesn't sound too happy about it either.

"But you're… you. You _are _feminine, Elsa. Like, there's nothing wrong with being more boyish, like Mulan – or my friend Merida, and she's straight. I mean, your ass does look _great_ in those," I gesture to the jeans, totally losing track of what I'm saying, otherwise I'd shut up, "but –"

"You said that already," Elsa's always so soft spoken, but her voice always stops me in my tracks. Like right now.

"I – yeah, I, uh, I did," I try to swallow again, but my mouth is randomly dry for absolutely no reason. "You can totally wear this stuff if you like it, but you should keep wearing your skirts and dresses, too. They're _you_. You shouldn't have to change how you dress for anyone or anything except yourself and your own desires." The word 'desires' comes out kind of choked, like I ran out of air, and I think my lungs forgot how to function for a minute because Elsa bent over to pick up one of her favorite skirts (it's blue and it brings out her eyes) and _oh god, maybe I'm bisexual because any second now I'm going to have a nosebleed like in a fucking anime if I keep starting at her ass_.

And she's totally blushing.

"Thank you," Elsa's basically whispering now, and sounds almost as breathless as I feel. "I appreciate the compliments, Anna, and obviously your opinion matters – because you're my best friend – but you're straight." She pauses, like she's unsure of what she's trying to say.

Or of my previously stated sexuality and at this point I wouldn't blame her.

"I'm a bit more concerned with catching another gay girl's attention, you know?" Elsa's fidgeting with the skirt in her hands, looking back at the mirror and examining her body in those _sinful_ jeans.

"Yeah," I manage to reply, but I sound so stilted (Elsa taught me that word) that I want to laugh at myself, "I understand that. Makes total sense. Obviously, yeah, but, um, you should keep the jeans." Now I'm the one mumbling, but I know Elsa hears me because she's blushing again.

"I think I will. Thanks," Elsa smiles at me and it's like the afternoon sun exists just to shine on her through her window.

_ Maybe I'm Elsasexual. Is that a thing? Probably._

And then my heart stops for, like, half a second because I'm thinking about how stereotypes are stupid and if I can get Elsa to give me that plaid shirt and I have a horrifying thought. "You aren't going to cut your hair short, are you?"


	2. She Even Sneezes Beautifully

_Okay, so this is no longer listed as complete. I'm taking prompts. Here's part two of I-no-longer-know-how-many._

"She Even Sneezes Beautifully"

* * *

When your best friend is sick, you take care of her. Especially when she's leaving in a few days to go back to university and you're stuck in high school like a loser. A baby loser. When your best friend is home from university on break, and sick, and her parents are out of town, _and_ you're kind of hopelessly in love with her, you jump at the chance to bring her tea and make her soup and cuddle her even though you risk getting sick, too.

Elsa, my best friend, almost _never_ gets sick. I can't really even remember the last time, except for a vague recollection of me being really little and trying to balance a teacup and saucer while carrying blankets and a pillow and a few stuffed animals from my house to Elsa's. My parents stopped me before I got out the door and one temper tantrum later I was driven to Elsa's, blankets, pillow, stuffed animals and all. Anyway, so Elsa's sick and she texted me like an hour ago that her parents left for their business trip _slash_ vacation, or whatever, so now I'm standing in her kitchen making soup and tea.

It's weird to think that in a few months I'll be at Corona University with her. She'll be a senior and I'll just be a lowly freshman, but I'll still get to see her more. Maybe not, like, every day or anything like that, because she has other friends (older, prettier, _out_ friends) and we'll both have class, but seeing her a few times a week still beats seeing her every few months. I know a lot can change in just a few months though and that kind of terrifies me. I mean, the last time Elsa was home on a break I realized that I'm totally head over heels for her (and bisexual, I guess). Not that she knows that, but I do, and that makes a difference.

It makes a difference in how I interact with her. Like, I don't think she notices, but I pay extra attention now. I see the little things, like how she always rolls her eyes at me when I ramble, but still listens to every dumb thing I say, or like how she squints when she reads even if she has her contacts in. It's all so beautiful and perfect and _Elsa_ and how did I never notice before? I guess I did, subconsciously, but now it's all out in the open.

Except it's not, because I haven't told her that I _like_ her. We're best friends, have been since forever, but I can't seem to bring myself to tell her how I feel. She's not dating anybody at her school, so it's not like I've already missed my chance in that sense at least. _God I am not looking forward to that happening_. Ugh, that's going to suck. I can't even understand why she's single. Is every lesbian, and bisexual girl, at her school totally insane? Elsa is the most beautiful person in the world! Then again, maybe they're all in love with her, too, and they're scared to say anything. Like me. I'm just so scared to mess things up between us. She might think of me only as a friend, or worse, she might see me as her, like, _little sister._ Gross. After all, just because Elsa's gay doesn't mean she'll suddenly be into me if I tell her that I'm into her. I am _so_ into her.

I'm standing here, sighing, heart clenching in frustration and longing, in Elsa's kitchen making her tea and soup because she's sick and she's my best friend and _of course_ I'm going to take care of her, but I'm secretly in love with her and she's… Texting me.

_Did you get lost snowflake?_

I grin, shaking my head. I lean back against the kitchen island and type out a reply.

_No, snot-flake, I'm just waiting for the kettle to sing._

Giggling, I look up from my phone because the kettle starts whistling on cue. And on key. I text Elsa again, saying _be right up, your majesty_, and turn the stove off. Tea? Check. Ramen? Check. Carefully rehearsed declaration of my undying love for Elsa? …Maybe I'll wait until she's not sick to tell her, even if that means waiting until the summer.

I walk up the stairs to Elsa's room, almost slipping because they have no carpeting on the steps and when I'm just in socks it's kind of slippy. Not slippery, you know, just slippy. I broke my arm once when I was in middle school, Elsa was in high school already, and I was sleeping over and I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and tripped over my pajamas and fell down their stairs. Yeah. That was a thing that happened. I don't know why I just remembered that. Anyway.

Elsa looks like a hot mess. She's still _hot_, but right now I mean it more in the literal sense since she has a fever and she's all sweaty but in a gross way, not like after she goes for a run. That's sexy sweat. Very sexy. This, with her nose all red and her eyes all watery and her voice all scratchy, not so much. Well, the scratchy voice thing is still kind of sexy.

"Anna?" Oh wow she sounds miserable. Never mind about the scratchy voice being hot.

I sit on the edge of her mattress and put the soup down on Elsa's bedside table. "How are you feeling?" I ask, grimacing in sympathy as Elsa struggles to sit up, coughing, and I hand her the tea.

She takes a sip and practically _moans_ her approval, "Peppermint. You're the best, snowflake."

I just smile, trying not to blush (and totally failing), "It's still your favorite, right?"

Elsa nods, drowsily leaning her face over the steam.

I reach out and start rubbing her back, which is damp with sweat. Definitely not sexy sweat. We stay quiet like that for a while and I can feel every deep breath Elsa takes. I can feel the unhealthy heat of her skin and I know she's that warm because of the fever, but my mind wanders in the silence to other… scenarios involving Elsa and me and the sexy kind of sweat. Yeah, I'm in _super deep_ over here.

Elsa finishes the tea and the soup and then she leans into me so that my arm is around her shoulder and her face is against my neck, which is torture, but it's also weirdly normal for us because we've always been affectionate. _This _is why I'm afraid to tell her. I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose _her_.

"Anna?" She tilts her head up so her nose is brushing my jaw and, oh wow, cue full body shiver.

"Yeah?" I am proud to say my voice almost sounds normal. Almost.

"Aren't you worried about getting sick?"

"Nah. I mean, even if I do end up sick, better for me to miss a few days of school than for you to miss super important college classes, right?" I'm grinning like a loon because she's laughing. I love making Elsa laugh.

"I guess so, but I'll feel bad because I won't be here to take care of you back," Elsa says and the rasp in her voice _is_ kind of sexy even though she sounds exhausted, and she shifts around under her blankets (and the ones I brought over) until her arms wrap around me.

I have to swallow a few times before I can reply, "I'll be okay, Els. Don't worry."

Elsa squeezes her arms, hugging me closer, and I think she's like half-asleep, "I always worry about you, snowflake."

Even though having her so close to me is _amazing_ and also slightly gross, but only because she's sick otherwise it would just be awesome, I have to chuckle at that.

"Don't laugh," she whines, nuzzling her face into my shoulder, "You're my snowflake. It's my job to take care of you and love you and worry about you."

_Love_. She said love. Oh my god. My heart's going to explode or something it's beating so hard. …Of course, at that exact second, I remember that Elsa was taking her medicine while I was down in the kitchen. She's totally high on cough syrup right now. I just hug her back and try to come down from my own high at hearing her say she loves me. Sort of. She probably doesn't even mean it like that. But she said I'm _her_ snowflake. That's been her nickname for me for years, snowflake I mean (and I call her the Ice Queen), but she's never said it quite like that before.

And then Elsa sneezes and I swear by all that is good and chocolate-filled in this world, she even _sneezes_ beautifully.

I can't help but smile again as she falls asleep in my arms. I'm probably going to get sick, since she just sneezed on me, but I don't even _care_. I'm in love. I must be, because no one sneezes beautifully unless you're totally enamored with them. Right? Normally I'd ask Elsa for advice, but, well, yeah. I guess I'm just going to have to wing it. I'll wait to tell her. I've got until the summer, because she won't be home for spring break, so that's like five whole months to plan. I'll be ready. I was _born_ ready to love Elsa. It… it'll be okay. I lean my head on hers and try to sleep, too, before I give myself a headache. _I'm her snowflake and she's my queen._ It has to be okay.


End file.
